We're Painted Red to Fit Right In
by foreverwriting9
Summary: They are broken and ragged and paper thin, and yet, here they are. Some moments between Jane and Lisbon.


_Don't listen to a word I say,_  
_The screams all sound the same._  
**Of Monsters and Men, 'Little Talks'**

XXX

There's a bruise on her arm; deep, angry purple against pale skin.

Jane doesn't say anything, because this is not how they work, but he does shift closer to her, his shoulder bumping hers slightly.

"Hey."

She looks up at him, gaze hazy and tired. "Hey."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she says, her gaze shifting away from him, "I'm fine."

(They are broken and ragged and paper thin, and yet, here they are.)

Jane takes one of her hands gently, palm up, and nudges her fingers out of the way. "I know this won't make everything better," he says as he carefully places an origami frog on her open hand, "but..."

She smiles slowly at him, and he doesn't have to finish, because she _understands_.

They sit in silence after that, Lisbon's pulse thrumming against Jane's fingertips, and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. (_Never let me go, never let me go, never let me_-)

XXX

"You know what I like?" Jane asks, looking over at Lisbon as she bites into her apple.

They're leaning back against her car, celebrating a closed case and the fact that they are still _alive_, in the parking lot of a farmer's market, and the world around them is sunny and blinding.

"What?" Lisbon hasn't felt this _light _in a long time.

He grins at her. "This," he says simply, gesturing at their surroundings and then between the two of them.

Lisbon smiles back at him, takes another bite of her apple. "Yeah," she agrees, "me too."

XXX

She is _so _mad at him.

"I hope this is what you want, Jane. I hope you're happy up here by yourself." She practically spits the words out at him, and he flinches.

"I am, dear, thank you."

She looks like she might punch him.

"You're losing, you know. The more time you spend up here, away from us-"

"Away from _you_, you mean. You're jealous of an attic, Lisbon." His words are sharp, and he just wants her to _leave_, because she is distracting and wonderful and-

Her eyes narrow. "You don't know me, Jane," she says coldly, and then she's gone and suddenly he can't breathe.

She's lying; he knows her so well, _too_well. (She ran track in high school, her pupils dilate when she looks at him, she likes her coffee black, and she has the prettiest green eyes in the world.)

XXX

He's perched on her couch, watching and _theorizing_.

"Lisbon, come have dinner with me."

She doesn't look up from the forms she's signing. (This is what he expects.) "No."

"Why not?"

There is ink on her fingers and she hasn't slept in days, and when she frowns at him he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's seen in weeks.

"I have to finish filling out these forms. About. You." She pokes her pen toward his chest, and he smiles.

"They'll still be here tomorrow." He finds her hand and tugs, and she follows, because she is Lisbon, and he is lonely.

(This is what he wants to say: _losing you is not an option_.)

XXX

They're sitting in the attic (_his _attic, Lisbon can't help but think), when he finally says it.

"I'm sorry."

The words coat the floor, displacing dirt and dust, and Lisbon just shakes her head. "No you're not."

Jane sighs, and an ache settles itself high in Lisbon's chest. She continues staring out the grimy window, trying to pretend she's not standing next to a man who _lied _to her (a man she keeps trying to save, a man she thinks she might love).

"You're right," he says, his voice low and almost sad. "But I wish that I was."

XXX

She parks her car and gets out, glancing over at the crime scene tape poking out from around the corner.

"Good morning, Lisbon."

She jumps, banging her knee on her car door. "Good morning, Jane," she says with a roll of her eyes, once she can breathe again.

He stands up from where he was sitting on the curb and smiles at her. "Are you as excited to be here as I am?"

She stops and stares at him, tilting her head as she takes in his messy curls and bright eyes. "At a homicide?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

He grins, and in that moment it's like looking at the sun.

"Yeah," she mutters dryly. "I love having my morning interrupted by a dead body."

Jane's lips quirk upward. "Well, it gives you a chance to spend more time with me."

"And that's exactly how I want to spend my days."

"I'm going to pretend you're not being facetious."

Lisbon laughs, running her fingers through her hair, and shooting Jane a smile that makes his chest tighten.

He slides a hand along her lower back, tapping his fingers against her spine. "Come along, dear. We don't want to keep that body waiting."

XXX

There's blood on his shirt.

There's blood on his shirt and he can't stop staring at it.

Lisbon slips into the seat next to him, but doesn't start the car. "Jane?" He doesn't look up from his bloody clothing, so Lisbon reaches over and brushes her fingers against his wrist. "Jane?"

Her hands are splattered with blood, and Jane focuses on that, on how the lines of her palms are highlighted in red.

"There's blood on your hands," he says softly, trailing a finger over her palm.

She nods once, letting her fingers curl around his carefully. "It'll wash off."

Jane leans in closer to her. "And then everything will be all right." It's stuck somewhere between a question and a statement.

"Everything will be all right," Lisbon echoes, because after all this time, after _everything_, she still desperately wants to believe that.

They sit silently in her car then, and watch as the sun rises.


End file.
